


honest when it rains

by fillory



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anxiety Attacks, Autistic Juno (but blink & you'll miss it), Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Peter Nureyev, References to Angel of Brahma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16061093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fillory/pseuds/fillory
Summary: Peter has an anxiety attack; Juno helps him through it. A study in comfort.





	honest when it rains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aroclint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroclint/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the incomparable Clint [@transnureyev](https://transnureyev.tumblr.com), who requested h/c dealing with Peter’s backstory. I hope you like it, babe! <3
> 
> Thanks to [queerpontmercy](https://queerpontmercy.tumblr.com), [PrivateBi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrivateBi), [AmbientMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambientmagic), [Pippin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippin), and [freudiancascade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freudiancascade) for looking this over! Any surviving mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title from [“Neptune” by Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reaBkEHHivM).

The first time it rains on Neptune, Peter thinks the sky is falling.

It’s irrational. Absurd. Tethys doesn’t even have a sky, not in the traditional sense of the word; the settlement lies miles beneath Neptune’s surface, carved into rock and lit by imported phosphorescence. Instead of the vastness of space looming comfortingly above him at night, Peter has the hollowed center of the planet, and then, more rock, all seen through the membrane of the city’s dome. He’s already used to the odd vertigo brought on by the ground arcing upward as he walks it. He should be ready to adapt to whatever other strangeness this planet chooses to throw at him.

Still, it takes Peter several embarrassing seconds to realize that what’s falling from the sky is not debris, but diamonds. For a moment, he’s caught in the sense memory of Brahman heat. Mag clutching at his hands. Peter craning his neck to look upward, upward.

A diamond raindrop hits his forehead, and Peter shakes himself. He can’t afford to remember now. He can’t break his cover: Cymbeline Wit, security technician and soon-to-be possessor of the finest gilded egg in the Jovian rim. His employer stands beside him. Peter has stopped in the middle of the walkway, frozen.

He forces a smile. “Ah. I didn’t expect weather today, did you?” Clipped vowels, soft consonants. His tone teeters on the edge between levity and panic, but he doesn’t think Cymbeline’s employer notices, thank the stars.

She offers him an umbrella wordlessly. He accepts.

Peter catches a handful of diamonds to line his pockets as he walks, and continues the job with his emotions locked securely in the vault at the back of his mind.

In his hotel room that night, he swallows down a panic attack.

Now is not the time for weaknesses.

* * *

“And what about these?” Juno points out a set of bedazzled handcuffs, smiling seemingly despite himself. “They look like police issue, except for, you know.” The rhinestones.

“Oh, those!” Peter beams. “I liberated them from an officer on a station orbiting a red dwarf. Xe was a private contractor, and I’m fairly certain xir agency let xem do whatever xe wanted with xir gear.”

“And you have them… why?”

“Why, Juno, you know how I love shiny things.” Peter glances at him pointedly, then winks for good measure. “And I had to take them before xe used them on me, you see.”

“I… see.”

Peter glances up again to see Juno looking thoughtfully between him and the handcuffs. He waggles his eyebrows. Juno blushes.

When Juno had asked Peter to tell him about the contents of his myriad pockets, Peter hadn’t expected it to be so _fun_. He should have known better. Dates with Juno—ones that don’t end with one or both of them injured, or leaving, or both—are always fun. It’s a bizarre new law of the universe, one exclusive to Peter alone: If Juno is with him, the night is good.

And then Juno asks, “Where did you get _these_ ,” his tone laced with wonder, and suddenly this night… isn’t.

Glittering in Juno’s cupped hands are the pieces of fallen sky Peter caught on Neptune three years ago.

And all at once Peter is back.

The ceiling of Juno’s Hyperion apartment is the hollow darkness of Tethys’ sky is New Kinshasa, broad and frighteningly delicate above him.

He’s sixteen years old, and in moments, the city will begin to fall. It’s inevitable. He’s too late—he was always going to be too late, because try as he might he’s a terrible thief and an even worse revolutionary. He’s too late, and Mag lies dead at his feet. His blood stains Peter’s trembling hands.

The sky is falling, and he’s _too late_.

Peter inhales Martian dust and exhales Brahman humidity; his shoulders shake; he clenches his fists behind his folded knees and shuts his eyes; he braces for impact. A tremor wracks through him, from his head to the base of his spine. There’s not enough air in this room.

“—eyev. Nureyev. Peter!”

Juno.

Peter blinks, and Juno’s apartment reforms around him, its walls as unfortunately curated as ever. He can’t stop the shaking, though. Or the hyperventilating.

“I—” he tries. The effort catches his breath in his lungs, and he hunches over, coughing.

Juno is at his side instantly, a flask appearing from nowhere. “Here, drink.” He presses the flask into Peter’s hands and helps him lift it to his mouth; if Peter were able to focus he might have expected alcohol, but instead he gulps down cool water.

He notes, distantly, that Juno is still crouched beside him, making soft _shhhhhhh_ noises. His hand hovers just above Peter’s back; Peter can feel the faint warmth through the silk of his shirt. He focuses on that.

“I—I’m sorry, I. I don’t know what’s come over me, I’m sorry—” _for freaking out over nothing, for ruining our night, for being such a mess that you have to treat me like glass_.

Juno shushes him again. “Nureyev, it’s fine. Can I…?”

Peter’s nodding before he even thinks about it, and then Juno’s hand is rubbing slow circles on his back. He shudders and leans into the touch.

“I get it, Nureyev. Peter. You’re not the only one with triggers. It’s okay.”

“But I shouldn’t be—” Peter chokes out, “I should be—” Stronger. He’s made his living on his independence and adaptability. He shouldn’t be able to be laid low by a pile of carbon crystals in the hands of his _lover_. They don’t even have anything to _do_ with Brahma, with Mag, with his endless mistakes and the rightful sources of his trauma.

“Peter, stop that.” Juno takes his hand, firm. “You’re spiraling. Look at me.”

He makes Peter meet his eyes for a moment, before flicking his gaze up to Peter’s forehead as usual. His eyes are wide, but determined. His chest rises and falls steadily with his breath. Peter does his best to match it and, after several attempts, feels the tension begin to drain from his limbs.

“Good. Stay with me. You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to, but you’re doing okay. You’re safe here. You’re not weak, and you’re not a burden.” The words sound heartfelt, if clearly rehearsed.

Juno lifts his hand to brush gently at Peter’s cheek, and he realizes then that he’s been crying.

His voice is hoarse. It scratches out of his lungs. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you, you don’t have to be. But I forgive you. It’s all right.”

And… maybe it is. Maybe Juno’s not lying to him. Not that he would lie, of course, but—maybe Juno knows what this is like. Juno’s forgiveness can feel like absolution, if Peter lets it.

Juno take his hand again and leads him into his (their) bedroom. He deposits Peter on the bed and begins rifling through his drawers, and Peter realizes suddenly that he’s _exhausted_. He hasn’t been this tired in months, it feels like.

Peter lets Juno undress him, then help him into his softest nightgown. The bedside lamp casts golden light over the room, softening its lines and illuminating its darkest corners. Peter closes his eyes and breathes in, letting Juno’s soap-and-coffee smell wash over him. The omnipresent bustle of Hyperion City is muffled through their window. He counts his heartbeats. He focuses on his breath.

Juno tucks the blankets firmly around Peter and settles in beside him, taking his hand once more and holding it to his heart. It’s warm; the sheets are smooth against his bare legs. Peter curls forward to nestle against Juno’s chest.

Tomorrow, he’ll tell Juno all about Tethys. How it felt to look up into the darkness and think the world was about to crash down on his head. How New Kinshasa haunts him, even as it floats unfallen.

Tonight, he rests in the safety of Juno’s arms, tearstains drying on his pillow, and dreams of open sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Neptune worldbuilding inspo: _Ender’s Game_ by Orson Scott Card, [this post by FYFD](http://fyfluiddynamics.com/post/177767932994), the [Wikipedia article on extraterrestrial diamonds](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Extraterrestrial_diamonds#Solar_System), _The Fade_ by Chris Wooding. Disclaimer that I’m not an astrophysicist. We gotta hand-wave that sci-fi science.


End file.
